


The Brainwashing Affair

by mvernet, Spencer5460



Category: Starsky & Hutch, The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Episode Related, Fluff and Crack, M/M, The Set-Up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-01
Updated: 2016-05-01
Packaged: 2018-06-05 13:40:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6706564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mvernet/pseuds/mvernet, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spencer5460/pseuds/Spencer5460
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I can’t think,” I admitted. And it wasn’t just this crazy case.  Hutch had ditched his lumberjack plaid for black leather.  He’d complained there’d been some sticky residue on a sleeve when he’d gone to put it on.  But he looked even sexier in leather, if that was possible.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Brainwashing Affair

**Author's Note:**

> A fic to answer all the questions The Set Up left unanswered, including why Hutch kept changing jackets.

**The Brainwashing Affair**

Or - Nobody Does It Better  
Or - The Spy Loved Me 4 Times and 2 Times He Didn’t But Wanted To 

_It all started with a fuck in a truck._

“All I want is black bean soup and you to bring it to me. Be my love . . .”

Hutch was sounding particularly cheery that morning as he belted out a tune from the driver’s seat of the big rig. He was always more of a morning person than me, but he had even better reason to chirp like an early bird that day. He was living out his fantasy of hitting the open road like the long-haul truckers he had idolized as a boy, even if this was just a temporary undercover assignment.

He’d taken to the job like a duck to water, looking especially fetching in a bright red and black plaid lumberjack’s jacket. His blond hair glowed from underneath his black knit cap like the first threads of a sunrise. So, even though I was feeling like a puce goose at the thought of seeing Joe Durniak again, I hadn’t been able to keep my hands off my partner the night before.

Bedded down on the mattress-covered bunk conveniently hidden behind the faux leather curtain hung in the cab, Hutch listened to me spill my guts about what it was like growing up alongside the mob. Much of it wasn’t pretty. The soft strokes of his hands both consoled and encouraged. Then we took turns putting to use the saying, “If this truck’s rocking, don’t come knocking.”

After he gave me what I needed, it didn’t take long for Hutch to come with spectacular enthusiasm, thick and sticky, in my hand.

“You’re just a big, blond blintz,” I nuzzled into his neck. “Irresistibly sweet and full of cream.”

***************

Joe Durniak died in my arms. And with him, an entire era had ended. He said he was going to name names, places, and dates - none of which I was going to want to hear. I didn’t care anymore. I’d left the past behind me. It had been my job to bring Uncle Joe safely to trial. A protected witness dozens of hitmen had their sites on.

How could I have been so distracted? Mislead in a hotel stairwell by an FBI agent who didn’t exist. Maybe it had something to do with a tall, blond lumberjack, a fuck in a truck, or even a waiter in white handing me a cream-filled blintz. Most likely it was all of the above.

“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” He’d asked. How could I answer that in public?

“Let’s go back to my place and get some sleep.”

I couldn’t have said it better myself.

I tossed and turned most of the night while Hutch did his best to comfort me. 

“Shhhh,” he hummed against my ear as he slipped back in between the sheets just before dawn. “Remember we have a guest sleeping on the couch.”

I rolled over and tasted sweet honey on his lips. Once again he’d brought me breakfast.

**************************

“I can’t think,” I admitted. And it wasn’t just this crazy case. Hutch had ditched his lumberjack plaid for black leather. He’d complained there’d been some sticky residue on a sleeve when he’d gone to put it on. But he looked even sexier in leather, if that was possible, especially when he flipped up his collar.

I sucked on a beer while Hutch made some calls at the bar’s pay phone. Terry Nash, or the guy who claimed he was Terry Nash, looked at me from across the table like I was gonna shoot him. Maybe I should have. After all, this guy had iced Uncle Joey. Not only that, with the way Hutch had been protecting Joey, he could just have easily been hit, too. Terry must have been a crack shot to hit Joe straight in the heart.

He’d killed before. Of that I was certain. 

But what I was really thinkin’ was how terrific Terry’s hair was. Fluffy and curly like mine, but with a finer texture and a nice, peanutty kinda color, ya know? I wondered if he used an expensive conditioner, the kind salons use.

Just then my partner came back to the table all flushed and wound up. Unfortunately, it wasn’t for the reason I would have liked. He’d lost the knit cap and his hair was glowin’ in the neon light of the Budweiser sign. I may be prejudiced, but it looked even better than Terry’s. The three of us had the best damn hair in the joint.

Hutch started goin’ on about unknown driver’s licenses, missing reports and who knows what. I tried to follow what he was saying, but his eyes were on fire, his lips were quivering and his golden hair was flippin’ and flyin’. Then there was that sinful black leather. It was all I could do not to push him down right there on the beer-slicked tabletop.

We were gettin’ nowhere.

******************************************

I twiddled the strings on the Venetian blinds, then pulled them shut, throwing the bank conference room in shadows. I was glad for the darkness ‘cause I was gettin’ a headache. And paranoid, too. I could have sworn I heard the tell-tale staccato of a Nikon cranking away when we come into the bank. Besides, that Thistleman guy gave me the willies.

But then I sensed Hutch in the dark and, like always, his presence soothed me.

Hutch was hunched in a chair chewin’ on his thumbnail. Any light left in the room seem to settle on his hair. The leather of his jacket was as luminous as a moonlit lake in Duluth. I ain’t never seen Lake Superior myself, but my Sea Scout has told me tales.

I started the projector and flipped through the scene where Terry said he made his cash withdrawal. There was no Terry.

Hutch kept workin’ on that thumbnail like crazy. His leather-encased torso and long, denim-clad legs stretched out under the heavy walnut table had my mind goin’ places it shouldn’t.

When Hutch bites his thumb, it means he’s goin’ Sherlock Holmes on me. And when that happens, it turns me on so much I can’t see straight, let alone _be_ straight. He knows it, too. I think he does it on purpose.

Hutch snapped his fingers and little Davey stood at attention. Hutch touched his head and little Davey saluted. When _The Hutchinson Finger_ got in the act I almost moaned aloud.

Sherlock Hutch turned to me with those blue eyes glowing from the fire in his brainpan and I was lost. All I heard from his long-winded speech was “two and a half minutes.”

Yeah, that’s about how long I was gonna last once if I had him on that freakin’ conference table.

***********************************

Dobey slumped at his kitchen table, one hand propping up his aching head as he watched Edith dry the dinner dishes. He admired the way her cotton house dress clung to her swaying curves as she applied the dishcloth to the plate with vigor. How he ever deserved such a woman he would never know.

“Kids asleep, baby?” He asked.

“Yes, Cal’s soccer game ran late. Rose and Cal were both tuckered out.”

“Sorry I missed it.”

“It was just a practice. They’re playing the Bulldogs next week. You’ll be able to catch that one.”

Edith snapped off her Playtex gloves and turned to her husband. He looked as exhausted as she’d ever seen him. She moved to stand behind him and began to massage his neck. “Our boys doing alright?”

Dobey sighed. “Yeah, Huggy’s got them holed up in a boiler room. They’re safe enough for now.”

The movement of her hands stopped. He knew her too well to not know what was coming.

“This has gone too far, Harold. A brainwashed mystery man, David’s car blowing up, a murder weapon and money sewn into David’s couch. It all adds up to one thing. We’re dealing with The Mastermind.”

“Edith, baby doll. This isn’t your concern. You retired from UNCLE the day you put on that wedding ring, remember?”

“I know.” Edith reached back to untie her apron. “But I can’t stand by while the most insane, diabolical THRUSH villain messes with my boys. This is my turf, honey bear! THRUSH has a short memory if they think UNCLE agent Mama Bear, Number Eleven, Section Two, is going to let anyone hurt my family. And Dave and Ken _are_ like family to me.

She walked over to the countertop and opened the can of Folgers that sat there. The aroma of fresh ground coffee beans filled the air. “I’m calling Napoleon as soon as I make some coffee to go with the pie I made.”

“Edith, I don’t… you made pie?”

“Ummm, hummm. Chocolate pudding triple-layer Cool Whip pie.”

Captain Dobey stood and hugged her around her ample waist. “I love you, baby doll.”

“I know, honey bear.”

Once Edith had settled her husband in the dining room with a double portion of pie and steaming cup of coffee she went up to the master bedroom, opened her jewelry box and took out a slim, gold-tone pen. She twisted the cap and spoke.

“Open channel D. This is Mama Bear, requesting a direct line to Number One.”

It only took a minute before she heard a warm, deep voice, smooth as silk, on the other end.

“Napoleon Solo here.”

“Napoleon, this is Mama Bear.”

“So nice to hear from you Mama Bear! How are you?”

“I’m fine, Napoleon. I’d love to chat but this isn’t a social call. Two of my cubs have found themselves right in the middle of a Mastermind plot. They almost got blown up last night. Now they’re being framed. I can’t have that, Nappy.”

“Don’t tell me. Dave and Ken again?”

“You guessed it.”

“I don’t know why we just make them Section Three agents, Mama Bear. UNCLE could sure use Michael Starsky’s son and his partner. Michael and his partner, Joe Durniak, were the finest team of agents UNCLE ever had. Nearly brought down THRUSH’s whole east coast operation by themselves.”

“Other than you and Illya, you mean,” Edith smiled into the pen, but when there was just silence on the other end, she felt a chill crawl down her neck.

“Napoleon? Has something happened to that little blond Beatle?”

“He’s disappeared without a trace.” Napoleon spoke gruffly as if trying to clear a frog in his throat. “But not just him. Several other men – single and without families to miss them – have disappeared. Illya had offered to investigate. He thought that being a foreigner so far from home would make him a perfect decoy. That was three weeks ago. No one’s heard from him since.”

Edith knew it was only his professionalism that was keeping Napoleon from breaking.

“Napoleon! No! I thought that after you became official life partners Illya agreed to leave the field. Same as I did when I married Harold. I thought he was happy running the Section Eight lab.”

“That’s what’s driving me crazy, Mama! You know after I almost lost him on his last mission, when he finally woke up in medical and I had to tell him he’d walk with a limp the rest of his life, I insisted he take the lab position. I might be Number One, Section One, but Illya is my heart and soul! Unfortunately, I can deny him nothing. He convinced me he was perfect for the assignment.”

It wasn’t often that Edith heard Napoleon speak so openly. “Oh, Napoleon. I’m so sorry. I’m sure he’ll be found. He is one stubborn Russian and…” There was a long pause.

"What is it, Mama Bear?”

“I think I’m starting to put two and two together. I’m sure you heard what happened to Agent Durniak. He was finally coming in after so many years of going rogue after Michael died. But you know Joey wouldn’t come in till he found Michael Starsky’s killer.”

“Yes, I heard he was gunned down by a skilled assassin.” There was little the man missed still.

“But what you don’t know is that Joe Durniak was killed by a young man whose memory was wiped clean. Someone had brain-washed him into believing he was someone else, a vengeful husband with intent to kill Joey for revenge.”

“That sounds like THRUSH alright. In fact, it sounds like The Mastermind, himself,” Napoleon confirmed and Edith was gratified that she hadn’t lost her instincts.

“Napoleon, if my instincts are still right, I might be able get Dave and Ken out of trouble and hopefully find Illya at the same time. Request permission to re-assemble my cubs, Sir.”

“This is highly irregular, Mama Bear.” His pause had her gripping the pen tightly in her pink manicured fingers. “But under the circumstances, permission granted. Give my best to The Black Baron and Huggy. And Mama Bear, please let me know as soon as you find out anything at all.”

“Keep the faith, Napoleon. Mama Bear out.”

*****************************

I’d seen more balls in the past few days than I had in months. It just so happened they were the wrong kind. Bowling balls thundered down the narrow lanes followed by the clink of dozens of pins while Hutch and I tried to untangle the Gordian knot we’d found ourselves in.

But I’ve learned from experience, no one can untie knots like Hutch. Dressed in that supple black leather, his Sherlock brain clicking as he tossed peanuts back into his mouth, I couldn’t wait another minute. When he headed for the john, I followed.

“Empty your pockets, Hutch.” I demanded as I Ieaned against the door. “I need somethin’.”

Hutch turned and looked at me with those pure baby blues. He knew what was coming but didn’t say a word. Just swallowed and obeyed. He reached into the pocket of his jacket and threw keys, a knife, a couple of bottle caps, a few pull tabs, a blue feather, a dozen peanuts, a plastic spoon and a small container of yogurt on the counter. Banana-flavored.

“S… Starsk! Th. . . this really isn’t the time or place.“ Hutch started to stutter. I couldn’t have that.

“Aw, babe. It’s alright. I only need two and a half minutes of your sweet ass’s time.”

I grabbed the yogurt container, shook it and opened the top. I handed the lid to Hutch.

“Lick it, Sherlock. Then undo your jeans and lean.”

I watched Hutch lick the yogurt lid. My hard-on pulsed against my jean’s zipper with every glimpse of that wet, talented tongue. How I envied the yogurt. He closed his eyes when he was done and smacked his lips together.

“Mmmmmmmm.”

I glanced at my watch. He was out of his pants and over the sink in thirty seconds. I laid one hand on his delicious ass to steady him. I dipped the fingers of my other hand into the yogurt cup, then into my luscious Hutch. I slathered yogurt between his cheeks, opening him gently but quickly. I had one minute left. Not much time I know. But it was a challenge I was willin’ to take.

I unzipped and dipped into the yogurt myself. It was cool and creamy on my hot, aching cock. I had my writhin’ bundle of blond lick the tip. When the yogurt was all gone so was I, or nearly. I entered Sherlock Hutch and both of us came right at the two and a half minute mark.

It was elementary.

***********************

We grabbed Thistleman outside the bank and drove him to the empty apartment Huggy had set us up in. After an intense scene that had Thistleman shaking and stammering, the skinny weasel let it slip about a castle fortress in the desert. 

“Just a minute, guys I gotta confer with my partner, here. Be right back out.” I pushed Hutch into the apartment’s tiny bedroom and closed the door.

Let me explain. Ya see, Hutch had changed into his preppy varsity jacket after our interlude at the bowling alley. He had complained that the yogurt had crusted all over the leather of his other jacket. It didn’t matter that the feds were looking for us. He insisted on stopping by his apartment and changing. Now he looked like a cocky frat boy, which did nothing to cool me off. 

I may not have gone to college myself, but I had a lot a happy memories wrapped up in that two tone wool beauty. Just one whiff of Hutch-infused frat jack and I lose what little sense I have left. A mix of gym lockers, gun cleaning fluid, and that salty sweet, rain-washed sand dunes kinda smell, mixed in with peanuts, yogurt, sea kelp natural shampoo, daily vitamins and aftershave. And when we piled into Hutch’s old car, that nostalgic aroma took over the front seat.

So that’s my excuse for wanting to get some in the bedroom in the middle of a life and death situation. Well, that and enjoyin’ watchin’ Hutch go BAMF all over Thistleman.

The little room was like a Hutch hot house. As I grabbed his belt and began to unbuckle it, Hutch gave out a kind of squeak.

“Starsk? Are you out of your fucking mind? We are facing death! We have innocent, brainwashed people to look after! We’ve already done it so many times during this case, I’m thinking someone might have popped pep pills in your root beer. I should have just kept this jacket in the closet.”

I shut him up with a deep kiss while I fiddled with his zipper and whitie tighties. Hutch really musta been runnin’ out of clothes to be wearin’ those. I slapped my lips onto little big Hutch and suckled. The smell of my Hutch close up assaulted my senses as I assaulted his cock. I kept quiet, but Hutch sighed my name as he clutched at my hair.

After a few minutes, a soft, triple knock at the door caught my attention. Terry cleared his throat. “Ahhhhh, guys? You about done brainstorming?”

I let go of Hutch with a smackin’ sound and wiped my mouth. “We’re almost there. Just gotta tie up some loose ends.”

Hutch groaned.

I took a deep breath and dove back into that mass of sweet, golden curls that surrounded his engorged cock. One last hum of pleasure had him moaning and drooling all over his varsity jacket as I swallowed the essence of my Hutch.

I stood and picked Hutch up off of the bedroom floor. I patted his hair into place, zipped him up, straightened his jacket and grinned. “That’s what I call takin’ one for the team.”

Then I opened the door and announced, “Let’s go! I got a great plan.”

Hutch stumbled along behind.

**************************

We’d stormed the castle with the help of Huggy’s friend, the Black Baron, who had been more heavily armed than an Army Ranger. But after the fireworks were all over, Terry was looking as lost and depressed as when we first met him in the bowling alley. Even Dobey’s little pep talk about the future being all his had brought us down. There were so many questions left unanswered.

Hutch wandered over to the window. He’d taken off the varsity jacket once he'd noticed the tear. He had that tired, burned out look that I hate to see on him. Cases like this with no clear cut ending make him doubt himself. They wash the blue right out of his eyes like Oxydol cleans grass stain.

I was going over everything again in my mind, but nothing made sense. I thought of Joe’s last words, “the end of an era.” Maybe Hutch and I had reached the end of our era. I felt...impotent. That is definitely _not_ a feeling I am accustomed to. And I don’t want Hutch anyway near that feeling.

Just then, Hutch gasped at something he saw out the window. “Starsk! Come ‘ere!” He was getting excited again. That was a good sign. “Look at this! Captain that’s not…”

I walked quickly to the window. The Black Baron, who had been filling in the local police, was joined by Huggy Bear and a luscious, mature black woman in a maroon leather jumpsuit and boots. The woman had a gun tucked into her belt at the small of her back. She looked dangerous and angry. 

Just then a helicopter landed and from it climbed a distinguished, dark-haired white man in a Armani suit and Italian loafers. Huggy went up to him and embraced him tightly enough to wrinkle that expensive suit.

My mind was blown. The woman was our own sweet Edith Dobey, lookin’ like a badass superspy. Huggy was hugging a guy who could have been a poster boy for The Establishment. Hutch and I both turned to see Dobey smirk.

Our Captain stuck out his chest and straightened his tie. “That’s my baby doll.”

Edith and The Baron turned and headed for the castle. Huggy and the Suit following right behind. Huggy kept a hand on the guy and as they came closer I could see pain on his exceptionally handsome face. He looked like I did when I didn’t know if Hutch was okay. I got that right away. This guy had lost someone. Someone very, very close to him. I touched Hutch’s arm and drew him near.

As Edith and the men entered the room where we had been watching brainwashing videotapes Dobey chuckled. She gave him a little push and whispered, “Stop it, Harold, this is hard enough.”

I couldn’t stand it. “What the hell is goin’ on, Cap? Are Hutch and I on the “Twilight Zone” or somethin’?”

The Suit cleared his throat and extended his hand to me with such grace and poise I took it without hesitation. 

“Detective Starsky. My name is Napoleon Solo. I work for an organization called UNCLE. Have you heard of it?”

I shook my head, but Hutch spoke up.

“United Network Command for Law Enforcement, It’s sort of a United Nations of spies, right? I thought it was a ‘60’s cold war thing. Long gone.”

“Oh, we are still around, although our prerogatives have changed somewhat.”

This Solo character took in my Hutch and shot him a million dollar smile. Hutch was lookin’... impressed. Then Solo gestured to the others in the room.

“You already know Agent Dobey, Agent Brown. And Agent Bar… what is your real name?”

The Black Baron laughed. Jones, Sir. Agent Jones. You can see why I like The Black Baron, it’s so much cooler.”

Hutch lifted his pointin’ finger. “Y...you mean you all are… Huggy? Edith? You...you all are spies?”

Edith smiled. “Enforcement agents, dear. We go and we do whatever Number One tells us to. Mr. Solo happens to be Number One.”

Terry, who had disappeared into a corner, suddenly joined in. “Do you think UNCLE may be able to help me find out who I am?.”

”No problem-o,” Huggy responded. “As a matter of fact, we can. Napoleon found out who you are. You are one of us! You are an UNCLE Agent, too. Agent Buddy Briggs out of the San Francisco office. And we think we can get your memory back.”

I looked at Hutch, my eyes feeling like they were about to fall out of my skull. I wouldn’t have been more surprised if they bounced to the floor like ping pong balls. “Huggy - a spy?”

“Makes sense,” Hutch nodded.

Finally _something_ about this case made sense.

“Napoleon is wearing _The Waverly Ring,_ named after Napoleon’s predecessor.” Edith filled us in. “If you rub the stone just right it emits a frequency that makes anyone do as you say. We think it will counteract the brainwashing techniques used. If it works on Agent Briggs, it will help all the victims,too.”

Napoleon lifted his hand to show Terry/Buddy his ring. It was a large and silver, similar to a college ring, with a oval, red stone set in the middle. Napoleon rubbed the stone with his thumb as Buddy stared into it.

The dapper man’s clear, strong voice filled the room. “Buddy, you will remember everything that was taken from you. You will remember your childhood, your friends, your enemies and your life before you were kidnapped. You will remember what was done to you and by whom.”

Napoleon lowered his hand and Buddy started to blink. Then he started to smile and even giggle a little. “I remember!” He exclaimed as happily as a kid on Christmas morning. “I remember everything!”

Then he stood before Number One, Section One and sobered. “Mr. Solo, I’m Agent Briggs of the San Francisco branch of UNCLE. And I know where Illya Kuryakin is being held.”

*********************************************

I have to admit. It was really cool being an honorary UNCLE agent.

Agent Briggs explained how he had found a secret passage in the castle before he got brainwashed.

Edith used a brooch in the shape of a French poodle that was actually a little bitty bomb to blast through the secret panel. Hutch took out two security guards in the hidden hallway with the UNCLE sleep dart gun Edith had given him. Man, he looked good with a spy gun in his hand. Which lead me to think of something else that would look good in his hand. Lucky for him that Edith was there.

Edith blew up a few more locked doors with explosive Juicy Fruit and we climbed down so many flights of stairs I lost count. Finally, we found ourselves in a subterranean passageway deep beneath the castle. At the end of a long hall was a thick, iron door. I lost heart when I thought there was no way we could get through that thing, but Edith was cool as a cucumber

She dug around in her Herbie fanny pack and pulled out a stethoscope and some odd-looking tools. She felt the door’s surface with her hand as carefully as the forehead of feverish child. Then she took the stethoscope and held it against the metal.

“I think they’re behind here. Get ready!”

I crouched low and Hutch stood high, dart guns at the ready.

Edith did her thing with the strange tools and the wall slid to the side to reveal an expensively furnished suite. Sitting in a green leather club chair was a smallish man with luxurious blond hair long enough to brush the collar of his lab coat. Over-sized, round wire-rimmed glasses highlighted rather than hid brilliant but unfocused blue eyes. Another man, tall and skinny, faced the pretty blond, with his back to us.

Hutch called out his standard, “Police! Freeze! Put your hands where I can see them and turn around slowly.”

I gasped in disbelief as the tall man spun to face us, a red carnation in the buttonhole of his suit stark against the pinstripe. “Thistleman! You’re the Mastermind?”

“How did you two idiot cops capture my castle?” he blustered. “What about the cactus mine field? What about my pressure sensitive heliport pad that blows up if an unidentified aircraft lands? What about my killer robot sentries and anti-aircraft radar with laser missiles?” His voice increased in shrillness as he recited his litany.

 _“What about my silent alarm?_ ” He screeched maniacally.

Hutch and I just looked at each other and shrugged.

“You bitch!” Thistleman screamed at Edith. “You may have me but I still have my revenge! The great Illya Kuryakin, reduced to a mindless shell of a man. And Napoleon Solo knowing he couldn’t keep his beloved partner safe from me! It will eat at him till his dying day!”

Thistleman started to laugh like bones rattling, his skeletal shoulders shaking and his red carnation bobbing.

Edith slapped Thistleman hard on his right cheek and then on his left. “You horrible man. You don’t mess with Mama Bear’s cubs.” She got right in his face. “You know the difference between a soccer mom and a grizzly bear? Lipstick!”

Mama Bear Dobey is one bad ass mother fucker if you ask me. Ummm. Hummm.

******************************

Napoleon did the ring thing with Illya, but Illya didn’t react right away. Napoleon rubbed the blond’s cheek with his thumb, softly callin’ his name. Then he leaned forward and planted one right on Illya’s lips. After a moment, Illya closed his eyes and leaned into the kiss. 

When he reopened his eyes, they were clear as a summer sky. “Napasha?”

Napoleon pulled back and we all heaved a group sigh. The guy had an amazingly sexy accent. I was starting to get excited. Boy, little Davey never can act appropriately during a dramatic scene.

Napoleon raised Illya into his arms for a tearful bear hug as Illya looked around the room.

“Huggy Bear? Mama Bear? What is going on?”

Hutch took it on himself to explain everything to the Russian, who seemed to take it all in stride. After forty-five minutes of long-winded Sherlockian explanations, the guy just shrugged and gave a shy smile.

“Some things never change.” he said simply.

I definitely liked this little Russian spy. He looked like he could be my blondie’s shorter brother.

When Huggy finally got around to introducing me, Illya pulled back and tilted his head. “Was Michael Starsky your father?”

“How did you know my father?” I was dumbfounded.

“He was one of the greatest agents UNCLE ever had. We studied his undercover methods in training school. Tell me, did Joe Durniak finally find your father’s killer?”

I swayed as what Illya said hit me like a giant wave out of nowhere. My Pop and Uncle Joey were UNCLE agents. I thought I was proud of my Pop before, but now I was just burstin’.

Hutch squeezed my hand. “You okay, babe?” he asked softly. 

Napoleon wrapped his arms around Illya who was a bit unsteady on his feet. The Cap held Edith tightly from behind, rockin’ her back and forth real slow.

I fell into those lovin’ baby blues. “More than okay, Hutch,” I told him.

“Durniak was going to finger your father’s killer,” Huggy explained. “Did he say anything about it to you when he died?”

I shook my head. “Just something to put on his tombstone. ‘Here lies Joe Durniak. The end of an era.’”

“End of an era.” Hutch mumbled the way he does when he talks to himself. Then his face lit up like a scoreboard. “Starsk? Remember when I rode in the back of the truck with Joe? He was telling what a great man your father was. Then he started going on about the Brooklyn Dodgers. Kept saying when they left Brooklyn it was an end of an era. He told me about this young hitter who always wore a red carnation. Said he had a killer arm. A master of the game. Joe insisted I remember his name. Said little Davey would want to know.”

All eyes turned toward Hutch. “Gino ‘Red’ Tellerman,” he announced.

“That must be the man who killed my Pop, Hutch.”

“He was Thistleman’s father. Tellerman is his real name.” Napoleon stated coolly. “Red Tellerman. An assassin who always left a red carnation with the victim’s body. Now we have his name and his son. We have him, Dave. We have him.”

I melted into Hutch’s arms. Everything in my life suddenly made sense. At last I had something I hadn’t had before.

Closure.

**EPILOGUE**

I sat up in the middle of the night with a start.

“What is it?” My bed partner mumbled sleepily.

“I just had the craziest dream.”

“That’s what you get for mixing anchovies with 60s re-runs.” The long figure rolled over and snuggled more deeply under the covers.

Just as I was about to fall back to sleep, I heard an engine rev below my window. I’d recognize that sound anywhere. It was a 1975 Ford Gran Torino with a high performance engine.

I jumped out of bed and I’ll never forget what I saw down on the street for as long as I live. A little blond Beatle sat behind the wheel of a candy-apple red Gran Torino with custom, white stripes. Just like the one I’d been dreaming of.

A baby blue Porsche pulled up behind the Torino and a good-looking man in a dapper Armani suit got out. He went to give a hand to the blond who was stepping out of the Torino. They both turned to look up at me and wave. Keys dangling from the blond’s hand flashed in the moonlight. He tossed them on the front seat of the car and winked.

Mr. Suave took the blond’s arm and assisted him to the Porsche. I could see that he walked with a pronounced limp. As they drove off, I heard the sultry sound of Carly Simon wafting up from the Porsche’s impressive speakers: 

“Nobody does it better  
Makes me feel sad for the rest  
Nobody does it half as good as you  
Baby, you're the best.”


End file.
